


Frippery and Flames

by salishseaselkie



Series: Of Lambs and Lions [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Embarrassment, F/M, Kissing, Making Out, new romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie





	Frippery and Flames

Niamh had not known to expect Cullen when he came, requesting her presence at the War Table. She was flitting about in her room, keeping herself busy with reports and other things, when he startled her by knocking on the door.

He knocked politely, as he always did before entering. “Inquisitor? Niamh? Are you there?” She was in the overlook, fixing it up so she could have a place to keep her various keepsakes from her journeys. She practically jumped back down the ladder and skipped over the stairs, flying to the door where Cullen stood with a hand on his neck.

He dropped it quickly, placing it very properly behind his back. “Niamh, Leliana would very much like to see you at the War Table. She has reports of movement in Crestwood of a…nefarious nature.” He paused as he looked over Niamh’s clothing, and she blushed.

She had never had the frills and laces that many fawned over outside the Circle, and once she had seen the possibilities of fashion, she had not been able to resist. Silks and velvets, satins and laces – none had been safe from her purse. When Cullen came to fetch her, she had been trying on a dress – sky blue silk with silver trim that hugged her torso in a fetching manner. Her feet had on slippers of a light fawn color, embroidered with the same color blue thread.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Ahem…I, uh…you look lovely.” She’d looked down, completely haven forgotten the silk dress, and flailed her hands dismissively.

“No, I…I was simply trying some new things on. I hadn’t meant for anyone to see me in them yet…” Cullen reached forward and motioned for her to move back.

He requested softly, “Turn for me.” She stepped back a few paces and turned, the silver thread catching the light streaming through the windows, her skirts fanning out. She felt silly, really, but when she looked at Cullen’s face over her shoulder, his face was tinged red and his smile was lopsided and boyish. She grinned.

“Do you like it?” His gaze flitted up from her dress to her eyes and they softened.

“I do,” he responded. “Will you wear that to the War Table?” She flushed again. The thought of parading around in such frippery when she had no occasion to wear it seemed foolish.

She stammered, “I-I don’t think it w-would be appropriate to wear such a thing when we have important business to attend to. Besides,” she offered more confidently, “Josephine will likely tear it from me in a fit of envy.” She flashed a toothy smile at Cullen, and he laughed. “Will you wait for me? I should change into something a little more practical.” He nodded, and she took his hand, which was warm and callused, and she led him up the stairs. He went to sit on her couch by the banister and she vanished behind a screen to change her clothes.

“Anything I should know?” she conversed from behind the screen. And he was happy to give the reports verbatim, glad that work was not off-limits.

Later, after she had changed into a tunic with soft wool breeches and a leather vest, he opened the door for her, allowing her to lead the way to the War Table. She continued to speak of Inquisition matters as she walked ahead, oblivious to all that was around her.

She recalled, “Ah, and Cassandra mentioned the reports to me of the rogue templars hidden away outside of Redcliffe. She and I will be investi-” A hand encircled her wrist and pulled her back, and she squeaked, both surprised and amused.

Cullen pinned her up against the stone wall, placing her hand on his shoulder. He growled as he did, “As much as I do enjoy listening to you, I have realized an error on my part.” She bit her lip and cocked an eyebrow, tilting her head up to give him the jesting version of the Trevelyan nobler-than-thou look she had always had a talent for.

“Oh?” she asked. “And what error is that?” He grinned at her and kissed her hand.

He murmured, “I have been at your side for nearly half an hour and have yet to kiss you.” Niamh had blushed, but looked aside and then back, intentionally putting on airs for the fun of it.

Eyebrows high on her forehead and voice quite stern, she declared, “Commander Cullen, this is a most grievous offense. However do you intend to repay the Inquisition?” He chuckled and nuzzled her nose.

A smile in his voice, he whispered lowly, “I have a few ideas…” Catching her hand up in his hair, she brought his head down to meet hers, and he claimed her lips in a hot kiss. She kissed him back fiercely, as she was slowly discovering he liked her to assert herself, and she yanked his cloak to press her body against his – only to be met with a regal frustration that his armor prevented him from feeling her urgency.

She muttered, “Maker  _take_  your blasted armor…” and Cullen chuckled in between kisses. She threaded her fingers into his curls and tried her very best not to pull too hard at them, but he wasn’t close enough and she wanted him to  _feel_  her.

Hands gripped the backs of her thighs and hoisted them up around his hips. Cullen groaned into her mouth and she hummed her approval as she slipped a foot behind his leg, bending his knee in as he pressed her against the wall. She heard him whisper her name, and that foreign heat bubbling in the base of her boiled her blood. His lips followed the curve of her jaw down to her throat and over her jugular, and she almost squealed when he grazed the tip of his nose back up to her ear.

Niamh, in truth, had had her fair share of kisses stolen in the dark corners of Ostwick’s Circle, but she’d never been one to easily keep herself hidden, and the templars always found her, ruining the mood. Eventually she was left alone with her reputation, called “templar bait” among the young male mages when they thought she wasn’t listening. Now here she was, and the nickname was taking a whole new meaning.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the stairwell, and they jumped at the sound, breaking apart and trying to recover. Varric came up the stairs, eyes on the ground pensively. He looked up and gasped. “Oh! Hey…” His eyes narrowed as he greeted them. “Well, well, Ice Queen…I didn’t know you and Curly were ones for lurking in dark corners.” She smiled sheepishly as a knowing grin splayed across the dwarf’s face. “Leliana sent me to look for you two…but if you need some more time to get acquainted with the shadows, I’m sure our spymaster has more than enough-” Cullen cleared his throat.

“Ahem…actually, Varric, we were just on our way down. We were discussing…the Inquisitor’s reports from Crestwood.” Varric shook his head lightly and shrugged.

He chortled, “Well, Hawke is downstairs, and I’m sure she’d love to hear what you have to say on the matter…” He turned around and headed down the stairs. “Don’t be long, you two…” Niamh smiled softly to herself, eyes cast to the side, her lip tucked beneath her teeth as she tried unsuccessfully not to give herself away. Cullen smoothed his hair back, where curls sprang up out of his normally tame mane, eyes off to the other side, and cheeks red as beets.

He murmured, “I suppose we should be going…” Niamh nodded and looked at him fully.

She raised a playful eyebrow at him and declared dryly, “All the same…I suppose you’ve been forgiven.” Cullen turned to her.

“What? …oh! That…well.” He smiled again, bashfully, and Niamh took his hand, sliding her other hand up his chest.

She murmured huskily, tilting her chin up, “However, it never hurt anyone to keep up the good work.” He bent down to where her lips awaited and kissed her again, breathing her in, holding her head in his hand. He broke and kissed her forehead.

“Let’s go…Inquisitor.” And when they got downstairs, no one mentioned that Cullen’s hair was going every which way, or that Niamh’s braid was coming undone, or that her neck was red and her lips kiss-swollen, or that his face was redder than usual. Still, every so often, Niamh would catch a glimpse of Leliana’s face watching them as they discussed the situation in Crestwood and tried not to hear her lowly clucking her tongue at what the spymaster could have only guessed had just transpired.


End file.
